The Storyteller
by Roland 'Jim' Lowery
Summary: In a dark future where Robotnik reigns supreme over Mobius, robots of all walks of life gather to hear the one known as the Storyteller weave tales both real and imagined.


The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.

The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations are made and the exchange of monetary units is not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to . Thank you.

* * *

"I shall give a propagandist reason for starting the war.  
Never mind whether it is plausible or not.  
The victor will not be asked afterward whether he told the truth or not.  
In starting and waging a war, it is not right that matters, but victory."  
-Adolph Hitler

* * *

**The Storyteller**  
by Roland 'Jim' Lowery

**Metalday, Snivest 12  
193 RD**

_Chassis glanced at the_ small, flickering chronometer and strained to discern what it said. After tapping the side of her head a few times and resolving her optical feed as high as it could go, she finally realized that it was a hopeless case. The chronometer implant set in her right opticam was never going to work again.

_At least it matches everything else in this busted down 'burg_, she thought sourly. A sigh rattled from her voice box as she looked up at the ancient clock tower that stood a few blocks down the street. The giant timepiece it held hadn't worked in ages, she knew, but for the past few weeks a kind-motored couple had been turning the mechanism by hand every few minutes. They did so according to their own internal watches to help those without such luxuries.

11 55h

Chassis gasped, gaining the attention of two other 'bots walking along the cracked sidewalk. Without sparing them a return glance, she bundled up the few rags she was wearing and began to run.

Her destination was just a short way down the street. A small, dilapidated, and thoroughly unremarkable building, it was only three stories high and little more than a hovel. The floor of each story was sagging towards the one below it, all of the windows had long since been broken out, and filth was strewn across the sidewalk in front of it. Indeed, the building was completely indistinguishable from every single other building in the massive Robotropolis Sprawl. Only one thing made it special in any way, the only reason that Chassis was so eager to make it there on time. It was the home of the Storyteller.

Once a week, precisely at noon, many of the neighborhood 'bots both young and old gathered there to meet the singularly most spectacular 'bot to have ever existed. The Storyteller, purported to be the oldest 'bot alive, waited within to amuse, scare, and delight everyone with tales of everything from fantasy to history, from worlds far off to their very own homes. As wise as the super-comps and as old as the moons, it was even said to be the only 'bot to have survived the years following the Great Robotnik Wars.

At the thought of Robotnik, Chassis shuddered and cast a momentary glance in the direction of Robotnik's Tower. Though she couldn't see it from where she was, she knew - as every 'bot knew - in exactly which direction it lay. A marvelously twisted monument, it was there that the immortal Doctor Ivo Robotnik sat on his throne and ruled the entire world of Robius with fists of steel.

Chassis shook her head to clear away the static, then stepped across the threshold and into the home of the Storyteller.

* * *

The first, most noticeable feature of the first floor was that it had no walls. They had been knocked out years ago and replaced by a handful of makeshift pillars to hold the second floor up. Other than these pillars and almost a hundred other 'bots milling about, there was nothing in the open space except a single item of furniture, a small wooden chair.

No one touched the chair. None of the assembled 'bots, no matter how much their joints squeaked and no matter how low their power, dared to sit in that chair. Nor did they sit on the floor or window sills. To sit before the Storyteller had entered would have been considered almost blasphemous in the amount of disrespect it would show. And to actually sit in the Storyteller's chair itself? Unthinkable!

So instead they stood or walked about, talking in hushed tones. Their radio communicators went unused for fear of disturbing the Storyteller's thoughts by transmitting so near to his sanctum. Even the little 'bot children were standing quietly, deathly afraid that they might get sent home early and not get to hear the day's tale.

Chassis walked amongst them quietly, scanning her opticams back and forth. She knew that he would have to be there. He, like she, had never missed a story for the past sixteen years. Surely he wouldn't have skipped out-

"Gyro!" she called out quietly to one of the 'bots leaning against one of the four bare walls. She felt relief flush through her as the spindly 'bot looked up and moved forward for an embrace. Relief turned to surprise when Gyro quickly put an arm around her framework body and lifted her off the ground.

"Chassis!" he cried joyfully as he spun her around. "You were almost too late! What kept you?"

She felt the oil running through her system start to warm up and felt that her faceplate would start to glow red in a second. "You set me down right this minute!" she scolded. "We might get thrown out!"

"I'm sorry," Gyro apologized as he set her down. "But I hardly ever get to see you nowadays!"

Chassis smoothed out her rags and stared down her olfactory sensors at him. "Just see that it doesn't happen again!" she said imperiously, then covered her faceplate and let out a girlish giggle. Despite the scolding, she hadn't really minded Gyro picking her up, and it was true that they hardly got to see each other since he had been assigned a new job at the bio-mech factory.

"Does your chronometer work?" Gyro asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Mine's on the fritz again."

"Mine, too," she replied sadly. "But the Storyteller should be out any nanosecond. Let's see if we can get to the front!"

She took his thin hand in hers as they began to gently push their way forward. The area just by the Storyteller's chair was, of course, reserved for very small kidbots, but Chassis and Gyro were still able to get within three and a half meters, an enviable position to many present. Just as they had picked out a good location, a slight creaking was heard coming from overhead.

A hush immediately fell over the room. Even those few kidbots who had managed to slip away from their parental units long enough to cause a ruckus had ceased their play. A feeling of awe fell over the crowd, and the respect and reverence they had for the Storyteller almost glowed through their opticams.

The creaking coming from the second floor moved slowly to a trap door built in the ceiling just a few feet away from the chair. The door opened with a click and swung open to let a rickety ladder slide down. Taking the ladder step by step, each movement betraying the horrible amount of pain only age beyond age could create in a 'bot's limbs, the Storyteller emerged from its den.

It wasn't much to look at physically. It's face was always hidden, as was its body, by a long, tattered brown cloak. No one had ever seen what the Storyteller looked like underneath the cloak. None knew its real name or even its gender, if indeed it had either. The only parts of the Storyteller that had ever been seen were its hands, bent and rust-flecked yet still powerful in their own way. Many naturally wondered just who the Storyteller was, but most didn't think it really mattered. As one 'bot had put it long ago, "The Storyteller is the Storyteller."

Eventually, it had made its way down the ladder, which sprang back up to the second floor as the trapdoor clapped shut behind it. To open it, one only had to yank on the pull string that hung down into the room. No one ever even considered invading the Storyteller's private quarters, so there was no need for a lock.

The Storyteller made the short - but painful - journey to its chair and slowly sat down. On its signal, the entire assembly sat on the floor. It looked out from under the dark hood of its cloak and scanned the crowd as they settled in.

"So," the Storyteller said in a voice as ancient as the oil oceans themselves. "So, you have all come to hear my tales. I recognize many of you . . . others, I do not. Newcomers are, as always, welcome . . . as are any questions you may wish to ask throughout the story. It is both expected and encouraged."

It settled back into the chair, causing it to squeal in protest under the weight. It placed its hands in front of itself with all of the fingertips touching in the form of a steeple.

"Well?" it asked. "What will today's story be?"

Hands and other manipulating limbs immediately shot up in the air. Chassis and Gyro's were among them. Under the hood, the Storyteller nodded its head. It slowly extended a gnarled finger and pointed it into the crowd.

"You, I think," it said softly. "Yes, you will do. What story shall I tell this day?"

After checking and double-checking the angle of the Storyteller's finger, there could be no mistake. Chassis hesitated for a second, shocked that it had chosen _her_. In all the years she had been attending the gatherings, it had never picked her before. She hastily tried to collect her thoughts and began to stutter, "I-I-I-"

Gyro nudged her gently. "Make it a good one," he whispered, then winked one of his opticams at her. She nodded, then rapidly scanned through a list of her favorite stories. After a few more moments of deliberation, she cleared her voice box and loudly declared her choice.

"I wish to hear the story of the Last Mobian!"

A contented sigh circulated through the regular story-goers. The story of the Last Mobian was a popular one, considered the Storyteller's best by many. A few even believed that the Storyteller itself had been there to view the events first hand due to the amount of detail it imparted.

The Storyteller sighed as well, lowered its hand, and began its story.

* * *

"Long ago," the ancient 'bot intoned solemnly, "long before we had biomechanical bodies that aged and breathed with true life, long before the great city of Robotropolis covered the entire surface of our planet, long before Robotnik became the great overlord of all that he is today . . . there was a race of beings known as the Mobians.

"These Mobians crawled across the face of the planet like a festering disease. They revered an ancient and ugly god known only as 'nature.' And they had no care for our kind, no care whatsoever. Robotnik, our creator, tried to save us from the prejudices that the Mobians heaped upon us, but to little avail. They hated us for the advantages that we had over them. They were afraid of our perfection. This is what led to the Robotnik Wars, which lasted for nearly fifty years.

"It was a constant battle, both sides striving for control of this world. They-"

A voice from the crowd interrupted the story. "What did the Mobians look like?"

The Storyteller held its hand 1.3 meters above the floor and said, "The vast majority were approximately so tall. They were covered with coarse wires that they called 'fur.' The fur was embedded in the soft, pink, spongy material called 'flesh.' Their chemical makeup was carbon-based and their foul bodies were filled mostly with a hydrogen/oxygen mix known as water. They took various forms, the majority looking like robotoid anibots. Squirrels, dogs, and the like. They were soft and slow and easy to kill.

"At least, _most_ of them were easy to kill. There was one group, a batch of rebellious scum known as the Knothole Freedom Fighters, who managed to survive the Robotnik Wars to their very end. It was from among their number that the Last Mobian was counted."

"Who were they?" someone asked.

"There was Antoine DeCoolette, the cowardly," the Storyteller replied. "He was a fox/coyote hybrid that was unable to do little more than wave a sword around and make frightened noises. He died a coward's death, shot in the back by one of Robotnik's sentries.

"There was Rotor Walrus, a pitiful excuse for a mechanic, who's various inventions and machines might have been of some use to our creator. Instead, he built them for the purpose of fighting Robotnik. He died on impact when a stealthbot squadron shot down a plane he was piloting.

"There was Bunnie Rabbot, who was given a beautiful gift by Robotnik, the gift of robotic limbs. With them, she was tougher and stronger than any other of her kind, but she spurned these gifts and tried to use them to harm our master. She was captured and transformed into a full robot, then swept into the trash heap when her circuit boards suffered a fatal error.

"There was Sally Acorn, princess to the miserable organic fleshballs. She was their leader and incited her people to rage against the machines with her prejudiced propaganda. She was among the last to be captured, and Robotnik saw to her death personally.

"But the worst of them all, the one who destroyed thousands of robots in his countless rampages, the one who tried for so long to stop our grand maker and lord Robotnik from achieving his ultimate goal of a unified Robius, was known as-

"_SONIC . . . THE HEDGEHOG!_"

The vehemence of the Storyteller's outburst caused a chorus of murmurs to run through the crowd as it stood up creakily and banged a fist on the arm of the chair. The noise gradually died down as the Storyteller continued his story from a standing position.

"This foul ball of _slime_," it growled, "was the Last Mobian. He had evaded death and capture countless times thanks to his super-speed, an ability that he had not even worked for and earned, but had been constructed with due to freak chance! He was so prideful of this aberration that he had on more than one occasion proclaimed himself to be 'the fastest thing alive'!

"All he truly was, all he would ever be, was a loathsome speck, yet somehow he and his cohorts managed to destroy the creator's hopes and dreams time after time, for nearly half a century. He was Robotnik's worst enemy, and the hatred between the two of them ran deep and burned eternally. It was the hate that could move mountains, destroy cities, dry oceans, and blot out the sun, stars, and moons themselves.

"Further, this hatred was spread amongst all of Robotnik's creations. Every 'bot, fresh off of the assembly line, was fully prepared to eradicate the hedgehog in order to pave the way for their creator's perfect world.

"But year after torturous year, the war raged on and the miserable rodent was still alive. They did everything they could to destroy him, physically and mentally. His friends died or were roboticized one by one, his secret base was found and destroyed, his lands were torn apart and rebuilt according to our master's great design . . . "

As the Storyteller had been talking about Sonic, everyone else in the room had almost been afraid to move, let alone ask a question. But now that it had paused and started to pace painfully back and forth, someone mustered up all the courage they had in their metal body and asked, "What does it mean to be 'roboticized'?"

The Storyteller's hood turned towards the 'bot who had asked the question. "Mobians," it replied, "were very fragile, as I said. Their bodies would bend and break at the slightest bit of outside pressure. Their skin was incapable of holding back multiple laser shots or even withstanding high-speed projectiles. Their data could not be backed up in case of memory corrosion. Saddest of all, they required a daily, almost hourly, intake of supplemental substances merely to survive without wasting away. Imagine yourself having to inject a new stream of oil or grease into your system every day instead of just every month or two!

"So, with only the best interests of the Mobians in mind, Robotnik developed the method eventually known as roboticization. I know that there are some who say that the process was invented earlier - by a Mobian, no less - but they are only blasphemous fools and should be ignored. Robotnik alone created what was then the most wonderful and powerful device known in the entire world, the roboticizer. This technological marvel could take the organic flesh of a Mobian and transform it into the strong titanium alloy of robotic parts!"

A collective gasp ran through the room, even among those who had heard the story before.

"For some reason," the Storyteller said, incredulous, "the Mobians considered this to be a horrible act! They obviously were not able to see the creator's divine vision and realize what a wonderful gift he was bestowing upon them! For their opposition alone they had to be destroyed. But Sonic refused to be destroyed. The blue hedgehog had even been roboticized himself, but he had somehow reversed the effects. Worse, he was capable of doing it repeatedly after that. So, the only alternative was to kill him.

"First, though, he was worn down psychologically. Robotnik used every mind game he could come up with to wear Sonic down. After years of mental torture, the hedgehog had become nothing more than a wandering lunatic, attacking anyone and anything that came near him. He barely remembered who he was anymore and lost touch with reality completely at times.

"Finally it was time for his destruction. A squadron of SWATbots, ComBots, QUANTUMbots, and mecha-units were sent out to find him. Leading them was Robotnik's finest creation . . . Mecha-Sonic.

"He was the ultimate in technology. He was Sonic's twin, his mirror image, and - excepting Dr. Robotnik himself - the deadliest of his enemies. He and his army swept the continents, destroying everything in their path in a glorious search for the Last Mobian Alive. Their search went on for days and nights on end, constantly moving and ever on the lookout for their quarry."

"Did they ever find 'im?" one of the small kidbots asked.

The Storyteller stopped its pacing, then sat back down into the creaky chair. "_Yesssss,_" it hissed. "Oh, yes, they found him. They found him wandering in the Great Unknown, hunting down what few organic animals he could find and eating them raw. When the robot army confronted him, he used that accursed speed of his to destroy fully half of the battalion."

The arms of the chair squealed in protest as the Storyteller's hands clamped down on them.

"He destroyed them," he said, each word coming out painfully. "He _killed_ them, and then he ran off. Mecha-Sonic quickly regained what was left of his troops and led the chase to catch the filthy murderous rodent. They chased him, the Last Mobian on the face of the planet, all the way back to what was left of the so-called Great Forest. They found him there, sitting at the foot of the statue commemorating the final destruction of Knothole Village, his home.

"What was he doing there?" asked Chassis. She snuggled closer to Gyro, knowing that he loved this next part as much as she did.

"Crying," said the Storyteller, its voice nearly cracking. "He was sitting at the base of the statue, crying because he knew that he could not escape from the righteous wrath of Dr. Ivo Robotnik, our creator! He looked up at Mecha-Sonic with tear stained eyes and dared to spit in the mecha's direction. 'If I'm going to die,' he said, 'then I'm taking you with me, rust bucket!' It had been the first rational thing he had said in nearly twenty years, and it was destined to be the last. Snarling with rage, he leaped at his twin with his fists at the forefront.

"Mecha-Sonic immediately ordered his troops not to open fire. No, he planned to take Sonic out on his own. Their hatred for each other ran just as deep as the hate between Sonic and Robotnik, and both hates came naturally. Unlike the other 'bots at the time, Mecha-Sonic's hate had not been programmed into him. He was not assembled with the thoughts of Sonic's destruction already implanted. He had come to hate Sonic over time, for he understood the creator's vision and believed in it with every wire in his body, with the very titanium-steel alloy he was made of!

"The fight raged on and on for hours. Sonic was bleeding red, red blood from various cuts, from his nose, and his ears. One of his arms was broken, as were several of his ribs."

Though only a few of the listeners were following this part, none of them dared ask a question now. They were all spellbound by the Storyteller's narrative, caught up in that ancient battle that happened so long ago . . .

"Mecha-Sonic was in little better condition. Oil leaked from his joints. He had sustained severe hull damage, and several wires had been ripped from his left leg. But still they fought. Time after time they traded blows, their movements faster than electricity flowing through a superconductor. But no matter how much damage they sustained, they would not give up.

"Mecha-Sonic had long expected the Mobian to tire out, but the rotten fleshbag kept pressing on, relentless. Just when it seemed that all was lost for the mecha unit, just when it appeared that Sonic was going to put in the last blow, just when it looked as if Mecha-Sonic had seen his last days on this planet . . . "

Everyone in the building leaned forward and strained their sensors. Not a single sound could be heard. Even the 'bots and vehicles out on the street had fallen silent, it seemed. Everyone was staring intently at the Storyteller, waiting . . . waiting . . .

"Just then," it said softly, "Sonic the Hedgehog, the Last Mobian on Robius, grasped at his chest and huddled forward in pain as his own body betrayed him. The very flesh that he had hung on to so dearly was now failing him even as he fought to keep it. Mecha-Sonic watched for a few seconds as the hedgehog convulsed in pain. Realizing what was happening, the mecha raised his fists and opticams to the sky and yelled a glorious victory cry for his creator - _our_ creator - Doctor Ivo Robotnik!"

The Storyteller had been gradually leaning forward as it told this part, but now it leaned back in the chair and sighed deeply.

"The victory shout was interrupted by the sound of a laser shot. Mecha-Sonic looked back down and saw that Sonic was dead. The laser had gone right through the hedgehog's fluttering heart. The blue mecha, struck with horror, turned to his troops to find that a SWATbot - SWATbot 21876B, Designate Gamma-Gamma 21B - had fired the shot. He walked up to the offending 'bot and, without hesitation, broke its neck ring with his bare hands. The mecha and his army left both of the bodies where they lay to rust and rot.

"It is said that Mecha-Sonic returned to the spot only once, many years later, and took something. Some say he found Sonic's heart, still beating slowly in his rotten corpse. Others claim that took a finger from each body and wore them as a warning that he did not tolerate disobedience.

"None know the truth of these stories, but they do know that from that day on, there were no more Mobians on this planet."

* * *

A contented sigh ran through the crowd as the Storyteller stood and reached for the pull string drooping from the trap door. As the ladder slid down from the ceiling, there was but one more tradition to follow, one last question to be asked of the Storyteller.

"Storyteller?" Gyro called out. "May I ask . . . who are you, really?"

Chassis' eyes lit up as she pulled herself even closer to him. _Lucky 'bot!_ she thought. It was always an honor for the 'bot who was able to ask the question before anyone else.

The traditional answer was, "I am the Storyteller. I always have been - and always will be - the Storyteller." This time, however, the old 'bot simply stared at Gyro, making many of the 'bots in the room nervous. When was it going to answer? Why was it just standing there?

Finally, slowly, the Storyteller reached up and grabbed the hood of its cloak in one ancient hand. It slowly drew the hood back as it unclasped the hook binding it at the neck with its other hand. The cloak, free of its bonds, fell to the floor. Everyone gasped in amazement.

The Storyteller's head had been partially melted away, but the crowd could still make out the remnants of several spiny projections in the back, all covered with a few flakes of blue paint surrounded by what looked to be an inch of rust. One glowing, red eye looked out from over the twisted remains of its voice box and faceplate. Its chest plate had been dented inward in several places, torn open in a couple. Its left leg had wires of all colors, mostly faded, hanging out of a huge tear in the metal. Its entire body was pockmarked, dented, and ancient beyond belief. It turned the good side of its head to the crowd so that they could see, proudly engraved in the metal there, its registry number - MS-32.

"For the past two hundred years," the Storyteller said, "I have been the Storyteller. And I shall continue to be the Storyteller for the next two thousand. I will not die until my final tale is told."

Without another word, it picked up its fallen cloak, shuffled up the ladder to the second floor of the building, and shut the trap door with a bang.

* * *

Chassis and Gyro stood in the middle of the room long after everyone else had left, pondering what they had seen. No one else had noticed it, they thought. It had almost seemed as if the Storyteller had intended that only they see it for some reason.

When the Storyteller had taken off its cloak, it had turned its head towards the two young 'bots just right so they could see through the melted part of its head. Laying in that recess were two ball shaped objects. The first had MS-32 stenciled on it, just like on the side of the Storyteller's head. The other, however, had read 21876B : GG21B, and it had appeared to have been wired into the mecha's head by someone who couldn't quite see what they were doing.

And they couldn't be absolutely sure, but both Chassis and Gyro thought that when the second ball had come into their view, they had heard the faint sound of tortured screaming drift over their radio commlinks for just a brief second.

"C'mon," Gyro said finally, breaking the silence. "I'll walk you home."

Chassis nodded her thanks. "Are we coming back next week?" she asked.

Gyro looked around the room slowly.

"Sure," he said. "It's a date."

**END**

Roland 'Jim' Lowery

December 14, 2002


End file.
